Perversely, privately, Jedao likes the Oars better than anywhere else on the ship. He can lose himself in the motion, and the heaviness resisting his arms as he pushes and pushes is reassuringly solid when everything else is suddenly a void of insubstantial whispers to his missing mothsense. Even the ache in his hands and back are - anchoring.

"I'm alright," he promises, after blinking for a moment. "Worried, mostly."